The Other Side of Divine (22 page)

“I'm not going to bother playing these games,” Paris said, opening the trash can and dropping the envelope in it.

“Oh, so you don't want to open it?” Andrew asked her.

“No. I told you. I don't care about junk mail. And I'm not interested in tracing my roots or whatever they might be pushing.”

Andrew opened the trashcan and reached in.

Paris looked horrified as her eyes opened wider. “What are you doing?”

“I'm taking it out of the trash,” Andrew said, pulling the envelope out.

“Give it back,” Paris said, reaching for it.

“If you don't want to see what's in it, then I'll be happy to see.”

“No! Give it back!” She turned to Paula. “This is all
your
doing. Are you satisfied now? Huh? Are you?”

“My fault?” Paula looked puzzled. “What do
I
have to do with this?”

“You're the one who has been putting all of these crazy ideas in Andrew's head,” Paris said as she kept her eye trained on Andrew's hand holding the envelope.

“What ideas?” Paula said. “What are you talking about?”

Paris turned to Paula. “You've been trying to get Andrew to believe our baby isn't his. I guess you finally succeeded.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Paula shifted her weight to her other leg.

“About three months ago, you don't remember standing right here in my house telling Andrew he needed to get a paternity test after the baby was born to be sure the baby was his?” Paris slammed her red Chanel purse down on the counter.

“What are you talking about, Paris?” Andrew asked.

Paris turned her attention back to Andrew. “Oh, don't try and play dumb with me! I heard you, both of you! You didn't know I'd come in and heard you talking.”

“So you came home and I was here, but I didn't hear the garage door raise and lower or hear you come in?” Andrew said. “Is that what you're contending?”

“You didn't hear the garage door raise and lower because I didn't drive my car into the garage that day,” Paris said. “I came in through the front door.”

“And the reason you wouldn't have come into the garage when you knew my mother was here is
why
now?” Andrew asked.

“You know why,” Paris said with her hand on her hip. “You know your mother has never liked me.”

“That's not true,” Paula said, shaking her head in denial. “I like you fine.”

“Yes, it
is
true. And you were in here filling Andrew's head with ideas that I may have been with someone else just because I was working outside the home. I found that appalling and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Paula shrugged. “Well, it
is
true: I've never said you were a saint now.”

“You know what? I don't have to stand here and be insulted in my own house.” Paris turned to Andrew. “May I have my envelope back please?”

“But you threw it in the garbage.”

“Which didn't mean it was okay for you to take it out and keep it. So, please give me
back
my envelope.” Paris held out her hand.

“I'll tell you what: Why don't we open it together and see what's in here. And if it's merely junk; I'll apologize. Deal?” Andrew said, extending his hand to shake.

“You know,” Paula said. “I'm going to go home now and leave the two of you to work this out without a third party hanging around.” Paula turned and left without her customary good-bye or kiss to her son's cheek.

Andrew stared intensely at Paris. Braylen woke up, his cry blaring over the baby monitor in the kitchen. Andrew held the envelope in the air, shook his head, laid the envelope down next to Paris's purse, then left out of the kitchen and went and got Braylen as Paris stood looking up at the ceiling with tears streaming down her face.

—Psalm 19:12

 

 

 

P
aris walked into the nursery, where Andrew sat rocking Braylen, humming a soothing song to him. She gently took Braylen from Andrew's loving arms and laid the sleeping baby back in his crib. She then walked back over to Andrew and kneeled down before him. Reaching into her pocket, she unfolded the still unopened envelope that was the cause of contention between them, and held it out to him.

“What?” Andrew said quietly.

“Take it,” Paris said.

“For what?”

“Because I want you to have it in your possession.”

Andrew took it and, tilting his head slightly, clenched his jaw. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“I want you to hear me out. And after I finish, if you want to open it then I want you to open it.” Paris swallowed hard.

He shrugged, giving her permission to continue on with what she wanted to say.

“He's a beautiful baby, isn't he?” Paris said, glancing over at Braylen in his crib.

Andrew's face softened, only nodding, appearing to be close to tears as he looked adoringly at his son.

Paris continued to kneel with one hand touching Andrew's knee. “Andrew, I love you. I know I don't say it much. And my actions are often far from demonstrating just how much, but I do. I love you.” Paris looked affectionately at him. Andrew was rigid with her.

Andrew shrugged.

Paris pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Back in July, I cheated on you.”

Andrew twisted his mouth and began to nod profusely. “So my mother was right?”

Paris took her hand away from his leg and sat back on her heels. “No, your mother wasn't right. I didn't have an affair.”

“Cheated . . . an affair, I'm sorry, but I fail to note the difference.”

Paris stood to her feet. “The difference, at least for me, is what I did wasn't because I wanted to be with someone other than you. It wasn't a heart or a love thing between us. It was one time. It was a mistake. It didn't mean anything.”

Andrew laid his head back on the back of the rocker and released a few quick chuckles. “Oh, that makes it all
so
much better. You had sex with another man . . . at least I take it that it was another man. Of course. It would have to be a man for there to be a question of paternity. How silly of me.”

“Please don't be ridiculous,” Paris said with a scowl. “Yes, it was with a man.”

“Well, I suppose if you were going to cheat on me, I can be thankful it was with a man. So should I thank you now, or wait on you to finish your little story?”

“Andrew, this is hard enough. Can you please not be sarcastic?” Paris said.

“Forgive me if I'm not reacting to all of this in the way you'd like.” Andrew sat up straight and looked down at the envelope he held in his hand.

“Andrew, it was one time. I had been drinking—”

Andrew began to chuckle again, then stood to his feet. “Maybe we should leave the baby's room. We wouldn't want little Braylen hearing all about his mother and her antics.” He walked out of the room with the envelope still in hand.

Paris followed Andrew to their bedroom. “Andrew, it didn't mean anything.”

“I think you've said that already. So you slept with another man back in July because of . . . why was that now?” He tossed the envelope onto the bed. “Oh, yes! That's right! You got plastered and are thereby relieved of any responsibility for any and all subsequent actions. Similar to the drunk driver that causes an accident. Why should he or she be responsible? After all, they didn't know what they were doing. Right?”

“I'm not trying to make any excuses, Andrew.” Paris walked over and touched his hand. He quickly moved his hand. She nodded. “I just want you to know the truth.”

“Well, I appreciate you at least for that much . . . finally.”

“Since I'm telling the whole truth, I got drunk because I'd just found out that you were representing Gabrielle against me.”

He nodded with pursed lips. “So you were upset with me.”

“Yes, I was upset with you.” Paris paced a little. “You chose Gabrielle over me, your own wife. You were not only supporting her; you were defending her. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I suppose, although I'm just guessing now, but mad enough to get drunk maybe?” Andrew said.

She turned and scowled at him. “It's not funny, Andrew! Do you have any idea how much that hurt? I was drinking because I didn't want to feel the pain.”

“Okay, so you got drunk—” He stopped and frowned. “Was this that night you called me and pretty near cursed me out?”

Paris gently closed her eyes, painfully recalling that night. “Yes.”

“So who is he, Paris? Or do I even need to bother to ask? Who's the man you decided to sleep with who didn't mean anything?”

“I didn't
decide
to sleep with him,” Paris said, flopping down on the bed. She covered her face with her hands.

“All right, then. Who did you sleep with?”

She looked up at Andrew, tears streaming down her face. “You already know, so stop pretending just to torture me.”

“Good old co-worker Darius Connors.” Andrew nodded. “And that's why when you saw him the other month you didn't want him sitting at our table. That's why you wanted to leave so early after we arrived. It was because you'd slept with him. And if I'm following all of this to its logical conclusion, what with”—he picked up the envelope—“this and it seeming to have something to do with a DNA test, it means you're not sure who Braylen's father is.”

Paris jumped to her feet and went to Andrew. “He's our son, Andrew. I believe that with all of my heart. Braylen is
your
son and mine. I just know he is.”

“Then why did you need to do this?” Andrew waved the envelope in the air. “Why did you need to even do this? And what is it exactly? Did you get Darius to agree to a paternity test so you'd learn the truth that way?”

Paris looked down at the dark blue carpet, then back up at Andrew. “No. I took a sample from your cheek while you were sleeping.”

“You did
what
?” Andrew said, recoiling. “Did you know doing something like that could be considered a crime? It's called stealing. You can't do something like that without either permission from the owner or a mandated court order.”

“Andrew, cool it with the lawyer stuff, okay? I'm your wife. I love you. You know I love you. And Braylen loves you.”

“So what was the plan?” Andrew said. “Before our good old postal service kind of messed things up for you by mangling this?” He shook the envelope.

“I was going to find out that you were really the father and that would have been the end of that.”

“Oh, so, let me get this straight. You had an affair, oh, I'm sorry; I meant an accidental one-time encounter that didn't mean anything. You and I had been trying for a couple of years to have a baby but weren't having much success at it. The same month, apparently, you and your cohort ‘accidentally' ended up in bed together—a night I'm sure you'd swear you don't even remember, which should be insulting not only to you, but to him. And then you miraculously end up pregnant. And
yet
! Yet, there's a
good
chance that even though all of these things came together at the same time,
I
managed to be the one who produced our beautiful baby boy.” Andrew swallowed hard, then clamped his hand over his mouth. “How was
that
for a closing argument?”

Paris wiped her tears. “I'm sorry, Andrew. I know it looks bad. But I'm coming clean with you about everything now because I love you. And I don't want to lose you. I don't. We can get through this, I know we can.”

“You're coming clean with me because of this envelope that has come into our lives and you feel you don't have any other choice now
but
to tell me everything. If I hadn't somehow managed to see this, which I probably wouldn't have had you been home today when it arrived, none of this would be being disclosed right now. I would still be the happy camper going around thinking that there's no way Braylen could be anyone else's
except
mine. I would have defended you to the very end against any and all accusations that you ever cheated on me. Which as my mother likes to point out, you can never put past anyone, no matter who they might be.”

Paris wiped her tears and touched his hand, which held the envelope. “I want nothing more than for Braylen to be your son. You're the only father he knows—”

“He's only six weeks old,” Andrew said with a shrug. “He's only known me for six weeks.”

“He's known you for almost eleven months. He's known your voice since the first day I conceived him.”

“Unless, of course, I'm not his biological father,” Andrew said.

“When I came home the day after that
thing
with Darius, you were the man I came home to. It was
your
voice our baby heard on that first day.”

“Yes, and if memory serves me, that was the same day you accused me of representing Gabrielle, and then you somehow found out that she was Jasmine's birth mother and had given her up for adoption. The day you took it upon yourself to blow up their lives without any thought or regard for what would come next,” Andrew said.

“I confess, Andrew, I messed up. In getting drunk, I messed up. In sleeping with Darius that one time, and that's all it ever was and ever will be, a one-time error in judgment, I messed up. I messed up by going off the handle and being so bent on hurting Gabrielle that I went to her house and blurted out stuff that wasn't my business or my place to do it.” Paris shook her head as she wiped her tears hard.

“But what I didn't mess up with,” she continued, “was knowing what a wonderful husband I have and trying, after all of that, to do everything I could to make things right. What I didn't mess up was having that beautiful child who has done
nothing
wrong. Nothing, do you hear me, except be born into a world of sin. A world he didn't make; a world he didn't ask to come to.”

Andrew frowned. “I know this. And you know I love that little boy more than life itself. I would give my life for him, and you know it.”

Paris nodded. “I do. But that was when you didn't have any doubts that he was your son. So, after all is said and done: we're at a place of decision. My secrets are pretty much out there now. I ordered that DNA to put to rest the question of who's Braylen's biological father. I don't know what that piece of paper inside that envelope says. You have the answer in your hands now.”

“So you're trying to put everything back on me, is that it?”

“I'm just saying to you, you can open it now while we're here and we can find out once and for all. I pray it says you
are
the father.” She shook her head. “But if it doesn't, you'll have to decide if it's a deal breaker for you when it comes to being Braylen's father. You'll have to decide that even if he's not your biological son, he's still your son. I want nothing more than to make our marriage work, Andrew. I sinned. Me . . . Paris. I asked God to forgive me a long time ago. I've now confessed everything to you. I don't know what else I can do.” She wiped her face, then walked over and yanked a tissue from the brass box on her nightstand.

Andrew held the envelope in the air. He could open it right now while she was there and get it over with. Then he would know for sure and could decide what step to take next. But he loved that little boy. What difference should it make whether his DNA helped to create him or not? Braylen was here now. Paris had changed so much over these past months. They were in a new church being fed the unadulterated Word of God by an anointed man of God.

How would opening that one envelope change things? But more importantly: Would opening that envelope destroy them all?